Page 96 of Unravelling: Aria & Crispin
And then the tears would start, and Crispin would go quiet, like he knew how fragile their truce was. That nothing was forgotten or forgiven yet.
Another time, she'd been folding laundry in the back corridor when she suddenly dropped everything, tears slipping down her face without warning. "Just leave me alone," she whispered.
He reached for her but she pulled back. "I mean it, Crispin."
He stood there, his throat tight. "I can't. I just...can't. I'll be quiet. I'll keep my distance. But don't ask me go away again. I cannot bear not to be near you."
That night, he returned from a walk with a tiny bag from a local boutique. Inside was a soft maternity gown with soft, cloth-covered buttons on the front. It was lavender, her favourite colour, with small white flowers.
"For when the baby comes...for feeding...you know," he said awkwardly. "I thought zips and hooks would be a bad idea."
Another day it was a tiny plush rabbit rattle. A week after that, a baby onesie that saidMade with Mischief.
Once, she found him sitting cross-legged on the floor of his room, frowning at his phone.
"What are you doing?"
"Googling the perfect baby mobile," he said, not looking up. "Debating between neutral tones or stars and moons."
Her heart did something odd in her chest as she stared at him.
And then he started with the books...
One afternoon, Crispin came back from town with a cloth bag slung over his shoulder, his face unusually shy. It had taken Aria a while to realize that Crispin had a public outgoing persona and a shy private one that he only ever let a few see. Like her.
"I brought something," he said, hesitating near the doorway of Aria's workroom, but he was obviously excited.
She looked up from her quilting frame. "What now? Another onesie?"
"No," he said, holding the bag like a peace offering. "Well. Books...for the baby."
He placed them carefully on the table:Guess How Much I Love You. The Gruffalo. Peepo. Goodnight, Moon.
All the classics. It seems he had gone a little overboard.
"I thought we could start," he said, awkward. "They say the baby should be able to hear by now. Around twenty-four weeks, right? And apparently, they can recognise voices... So, I figured, maybe...she should know mine."
He looked so tentative that Aria couldn't bring herself to shut him down.
So that evening, after dinner, he pulled up a chair beside her, opened the first book, and began to read. His voice, a sexy bass, polished from years of boardrooms and interviews, softened as he read, warm and playful.
"Little Nutbrown Hare, who was going to bed, held on tight to Big Nutbrown Hare's very long ears..."
The first time, he didn't ask to touch her belly. He just read, hands carefully holding the book on his lap.
But the next night, he did.
"Would it be alright...if I put my hand there? While I read?"
Aria hesitated.
Then nodded.
He placed his palm lightly over her bump, reverent. As he read, the baby kicked once, sharp and sudden beneath his hand.
Crispin froze. "Did you feel that?"
"I think he likes your voice," Aria said quietly.
